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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28232964">What Love Leaves Aside</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darling_Jack/pseuds/Darling_Jack'>Darling_Jack</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Light Angst, Memories, Pre-RDR1, post-epilogue</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 16:35:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,264</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28232964</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darling_Jack/pseuds/Darling_Jack</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur offers John some well needed advice. He never was good at giving speeches.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>What Love Leaves Aside</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> “Hey.” </em>
</p>
<p>John startled upright, scrambling backwards with a shout. He rubbed against the bleariness in his eyes, finding himself in a dimly lit room, tangled in a threadbare blanket and dripping with a fine sheen of sweat. He blinked owlishly at Arthur who stood in the darkness, clearly fully dressed and ready for… something. John couldn’t guess at what— the man always had been mysterious and, more than that, busy. </p>
<p>“Rise and shine Marston,” Arthur huffed with his usual frown, “‘Bout damn time, too. I was fixin’ to get a bucket— probably woulda drowned you though, so you’re lucky I decided against it.”</p>
<p>“What the hell?” John groaned, wiping the sleep from his face,  “What time is it?”</p>
<p>“Hell if I know,” Arthur replied flippantly, yanking the blanket away, “Let’s go for a ride.”</p>
<p>And they did.</p>
<p>John didn’t even question it, nor so much as complain; he honestly didn’t think to. Arthur sat atop his dappled black mare Minerva; though he still offered hushed praise and whispered encouragement, he was stern and quiet, more so than John had come to expect. Solemn, eyes fixed on the road before them. </p>
<p>John, on the other hand, buzzed with nerves, his anxieties were muted by the thick blanket of calm that always came when Arthur was there, but still those anxieties persisted. He patted Buell’s neck, the pair picking their way down winding dark trails. That quiet ride lasted far too long before Arthur pulled Minerva to a stop near the river. John did the same, the pair of them settling in at the edge of the cliffside, eyeing the horizon to the east. </p>
<p>The sky of West Elizabeth was dark and inky; perched at the precipice of early morning in a way completely indescribable. He could tell the horizon was ripe and swollen, though it hadn’t so much as blushed pink yet. John sat at the edge of that cliff, watching. Watching what, he couldn’t say. But Arthur watched, so John watched.</p>
<p>He offered John a cigarette. </p>
<p>It was a simple gesture; kind, and not unusual for Arthur in the slightest, but still something about it set John’s hair on end. Arthur simply nodded to himself, taking a long, slow drag. For some reason that fact alone made John’s chest ache terribly. He was the same as he had always been, face still and calm and awash with the glow of his cigarette. Arthur, unwavering, since they were young. He was always steady and solid; always thinking. Always waiting. Unchanging.</p>
<p>For all of Dutch’s bluster, for all the shit they gave him about always having a plan, Arthur was quietly worse. He kept his plots silent, kept them close to his chest, but they were there. The man was always thinking; calculating. Planning more than Dutch could ever dream to. John wondered if he was the only one to ever have noticed just how much scheming Arthur actually did. </p>
<p>This, too, must be a plan. Some plan, whether Arthur’s or otherwise, that John was too dull to understand quite yet. For now that didn’t matter; he shifted a little closer to Arthur, but the chill in the wind bit into him anyway. </p>
<p>He watched Arthur’s exhale curl into the sky. Arthur’s gaze swept over to him, sticking fast.</p>
<p>“You are some kind of stupid, you know that?”</p>
<p>His words were gentle, despite their content, spoken so softly, so reverently, John nearly missed the blatant insult. </p>
<p>“Pardon?”</p>
<p>Arthur’s eyes fixed off into the distance. He took another drag of his cigarette. </p>
<p>“Not like I’m one to talk, I guess. I done plenty of stupid shit,” Arthur broke into a smile, but there was no warmth nor humor there, “And I will surely continue doing stupid shit until I can’t no more. Hell, I tried. I did. It’s just my nature, I guess. Gotta keep fightin’ til there ain’t nothin’ left to fight. But you can’t…. John, there are things that can’t be fought. Things that <em> shouldn’t </em> be fought. And maybe fightin’ is one of them things, but….”</p>
<p>John stared at him, wide-eyed and thoroughly confused, face screwed up in bewilderment. He had absolutely no idea what point the man was trying to make, nor what lesson he was trying to impart. Maybe Arthur had hit his head someplace, or maybe he was drunk. Either way, John hated it.</p>
<p>“You… Arthur, you feeling okay?” he asked, recoiling slightly.</p>
<p>“Damn it all, I weren’t never any good at lectures… You— you shouldn’t’a never come back here, John. Or— or shoulda ran, when you had the chance, or just, hell, I don’t know… Coulda tried to get through to Dutch, or any of those boys, they woulda helped. But I done warned you, kid.”</p>
<p>John blinked owlishly; he only vaguely knew what Arthur was talking about, but there was something heavy and familiar in his words. Hauntingly so. Deep lines etched into his features, and for a moment, John studied them in silence. Arthur took another lungful of smoke, tilting his hat down over his eyes. John wasn’t sure why— another in a long list of things he didn’t understand. </p>
<p>Arthur’s voice wavered ever so slightly, “What’s done is done.”</p>
<p>“… Guess so.” </p>
<p>“We… we just gotta do the best with the days we got, you understand? I just… wish it could’ve been better days.”</p>
<p>John hummed his response; though the content of Arthur’s words were lost on him, the feeling there was certainly not. Mournful. For a minute, he felt as though he hadn’t seen Arthur in a dreadfully long time; like years of mourning weighed upon him all at once. Arthur looked the same as ever, though. John knew that to his marrow, though he might later realize he didn’t remember much of how Arthur looked after all. </p>
<p>He remembered this feeling though. This grief, deep-set and cold. This regret— as though all of this was familiar in the worst kind of way.</p>
<p>“Hey….” John swallowed thick, “This… ain’t real, is it?”</p>
<p>Arthur let loose a long puff of smoke. The sun budded over the horizon to the east, barely edging over the northern half of West Elizabeth. Arthur’s gaze slid to John’s face, studying him for a moment, before settling again on the mountains in the distance.   </p>
<p>“Hell if I know.”</p>
<p>“Hm.”</p>
<p>“Sure is nice, though,” Arthur mumbled low enough that John very nearly didn’t hear.</p>
<p>“Sure is,” he replied, shifting yet closer to the other man. </p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>John startled awake as the ferry took a particularly nasty lurch, the sun burned through the window directly into his eyes, as though it had need for vengeance. </p>
<p>At first he tried, and failed, to grab a hold of the lingering remains of that dream that fell away like sand; whatever it was, it left him feeling awfully empty. Try as he might, he couldn’t recall a thing. He let it go after a beat; he supposed it didn’t matter much anyways.</p>
<p>In a moment, Edgar Ross would yank him to his feet and damn near shove him off the ferry into the crowded streets of Blackwater. He’d be stuck on a southbound train, the deal he made weighing painfully on his mind, his thoughts drifting to hazy memories of better days. He’d forget entirely this nagging grief in his chest, entirely unsure of where it came from to begin with, and instead focus on ending the Van der Linde gang for good— on getting his family back, and returning to the life he had painstakingly carved out for himself. </p>
<p>But for now, he sat and watched the sun rise. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey y'all, happy holidays! Arthur's still dead, John's about to die, and there's nothing any of us can do about it ♡</p></blockquote></div></div>
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